Smooth Jazz and Old Cartoons
by RascalChao
Summary: Music can bond hearts together and lift spirits to new heights. Big Band knows this all too well.


One note, three notes, another note. All low in key, all sliding out of the saxophone like water. The deep sound soothed the ears of those in the room and seemed to melt their worries away. Even the girl leaned up against him felt at ease. A rare feeling, considering how hot-blooded she was most of the time.

Peacock chuckled at the thought. It'd be hella entertaining to go out and pick a fight. For now, she was listening. To Big Band, to be specific. They were both sitting on a couch, Big Band having one leg crossed over the other like he always did. Peacock herself had her hat tipped down, giving the illusion she was asleep against the larger man.

Big Band never seemed to play the same song twice. Every single one was a new piece, played on the instrument of his choice. He preferred the sax, Peacock noted. The instrument in question was attached to his mouthpiece. The keys moved on their own, and Big Band's hands stayed under his coat.

Soon, the song ended. Big Band was readying to play another for fun's sake when the girl against him piped up.

"Yo, Big Band."

He hesitated. It had been a while since Peacock wanted to talk to him. Wasn't because they didn't like each other, of course not. Peacock was usually busy, and he was usually busy. Still, the chance of being able to talk to her was a pleasant one. One that Big Band wasn't wanting to drop.

"Hey, lil' P. What's up?"

"The ceiling, the sky, and then some space."

This makes Big Band chuckle. "How're ya feelin', I mean."

Smiling, Peacock drums her hands on her chest. "Tired, but in a good way."

"Music suitin' ya well?"

"Pfft," she blew air out of her lips, "You know how to work that big hunk of metal like you were born with it. Did ya have one as a pacifier or somethin'?"

"Nothin' special. Picked up my musical skills around when I was fifteen. I actually started out with a trombone. Y'know, long-necked fellows that like to do nothin' but slide. Better for lower notes, but that just about puts a name on every brass instrument."

The small trickster sighed. "Sometimes, I kinda wish I could play somethin'."

"I could always teach ya."

"Nah," she said as she shook her head, "not anytime soon, anyway. I'll remember the offer, though."

Big Band hummed as he looked down at Peacock. "You look like you'd play a mean raccoon."

Peacock struggled to keep down her laughter. "A raccoon?"

"Clarinet. Call 'em raccoons because of the stripes. Plus they make some pretty noises. Better at playin' more mid-range stuff, nothin' high like the flute and oboe can pull off."

"Huh," Peacock considers it for a moment, "Wonder how sturdy they are."

"Not very," he replied, uncrossing his leg and sitting back, "Things come apart in five pieces if ya try to use 'em as a weapon. 'Course, that's how they're designed. Ya can't just shove an entire clarinet in the case it comes in. Most of the quality ones are made outta wood. Cheaper ones get made out of plastic." Big Band then pauses. "Wait, am I tellin' ya about instruments and you're actually listenin'?"

"Hey!" Peacock tips her hat up so she can playfully glare at him. "I ain't all about shootin'. Though I'll admit, I'm more curious 'bout the time you picked up music."

This makes Big Band hesitate. Oh, boy. If she had asked any other question, it would have been so much easier. No need to withhold it, though. "Was around the time of the Great War. Everythin' was messed up, so some folks tried anythin' possible to escape. Some turned to their own guns, in one form or another. Some turned to... substances. Me, I turned to music. I played for those around me. Kept them alive. Kept myself alive.

"Right after the war ended, I got a job as a beat cop around New Meridian. It wasn't the best job. Not by a long shot. One day I went against what we were doin', and well... They gave me an 'early retirement'. The Labs took me in, offered to rebuild me. The only request I had? To keep spreadin' my music. To keep spreadin' that hope."

That made Peacock silent, even a while after he was done speaking. She was familiar with the Great War. Too familiar. She preferred not to dwell on it. Still, the phantoms of pain reminded her why the Labs took her in too. "You made others feel better, probably inspired 'em too." Casting her gaze down, she sank a little. "Wish I could have done something like that."

Looking back out to those gathered in the lab, Big Band crossed his legs again. "Ya just gotta hold onto that hope, pick up that tattered flag and raise it high. 'Cause if you won't, who will?"

This made Peacock smile. "Guess you're right." She follows Big Band's gaze out to the other scientists, and the other products of the Labs. "You've kept 'em waiting long enough. Play again, please."

"As you wish."

With that, he took in a breath, and raised his banner high.


End file.
